Right down the shocked street with a siren-blast

that sends all else skittering to the curb,

redness, brass, ladders and hats hurl past,

blurring to sheer verb,

*

shift at the corner into uproarious gear

and make it around the turn in a squall of traction,

the headlong bell maintaining sure and clear,

thought is degraded action!

*

Beatiful, heavy, unweary, loud, obvious thing!

I stand here purged of nuance, my mind a blank.

All I was brooding upon has taken wing,

and I have you to thank.

*

As you howl beyond hearing I carry you into my mind,

ladders and brass and all, here to admire

your phoenix-red simplicity, enshrined

in that not extinguished fire.

Richard Wilbur. USA (1921-2017)